Warning: This post is so good it could cause you to faint, just like Octavia. T.P.O. advises you not to read it alone. You have been warned. T.P.O. is not responsible for any losses of breath, fainting, irregular heartbeats, or exploding heads acquired during the reading of this post.
"Look not upon base works without dismay,"
Did Victorino whisper to himself,
Abreu, making chase, again was fey
With overmuch regard for his own health
Allowed the ball to pass beyond his mitt
His next at-bat, Abreu took a pitch
Then grounding meekly, weakly back to Schmidt
Retreats to the bench, doesn't give a shit
So he proceeds to reach beneath his seat
Produce a spray of Avon Skin So Soft
To treat mosquito bites upon his wrist
While Wheeler shrieks and Harry grimly coughs
And Shane gets preternaturally pissed
And vows that if he's e'er freed from the pine
He'll lay out for each slicing doubtful foul
He'd pride himself on fighting spirit, spine,
Not just content to milk bountiful cows
Lieberthudlian tonguing of the nip
Abreu made his name taking the pitch
He'd never take a curveball in the back
Or a big hack: afraid his bat will crack
Brave Shane would rather slap it in the gap
And give the center fielders heart attacks
By making turns of menace around third
While conversely asserting the absurd
Impossibility of second base
Being taken on balls in Shane's range or space.
From that point the Phillies played with gloss
Picking up fans that previous teams had tossed
From rickety bandwagons axled on
The backs of players who saw nothing wrong
With striking out with men on first and third
And crying when the fans would use cursewords...
1 comment:
pure genius
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